


Silent Sea

by Phentys



Category: Prey (Video Game 2017)
Genre: Flashbacks, Hallucinations, Hospitalization, Implied/Referenced Self-Harm, Implied/Referenced Suicide attempt, M/M, Post-Canon, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Post-game Plot, Slow Burn, Xenophilia, ambiguous death
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-07-30
Updated: 2020-09-06
Packaged: 2021-03-05 23:48:40
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 2
Words: 9,944
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25603843
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Phentys/pseuds/Phentys
Summary: Alone. Afloat. Coral draped across the skyscrapers of evacuated cities. The white glow of the full moon obfuscated by the writhing shape of something that should not be. Think of all the people you lost. Think of how many more you inadvertently killed trying to save anyone else. Alex said "you did everything you could with the information you had," but Morgan still knew that this was his own fault and no one else's. And no matter how hard he tried, he couldn't escape the scars, physical and psychological, left on him from his attempts. He couldn't move on to damage control.What if someone else could have done better?...What if they already had?
Relationships: Morgan Yu/Morgan Yu, Morgan Yu/Original Morgan Yu, Morgan Yu/The Typhon
Comments: 7
Kudos: 37





	1. Open Seas

**Author's Note:**

> WARNING: MAJOR ENDGAME SPOILERS!! If you have not played or watched Prey through to the end, I can't recommend enough that you do that before reading this fic. We're talking experience-ruining spoilers here. Prey is gorgeous, immersive, and terrifying; it deserves a chance to stand alone.

Alex had very little left to work with. While Subject 240 was observably more docile than previous specimens, it wasn’t exactly compliant, either. Running it through the simulation of Talos I a second time made it somewhat more manageable, at least more willing to move containment chambers. This was a remarkable change from testing on phantoms, which seemed to reject human neuromods after coming out of the simulation. He’d been hesitant to try this on anything larger, let alone a nightmare, but even with the subject able to respond to verbal commands, it still didn’t seem able (or perhaps willing) to actually reply. Proper access to the “brain” of one of these larger typhon organisms could give Alex a way to burn the coral, to undo what he’d wrought, but the shadow of the Apex looming before the moon did little to ease the pressure.

Grav shaft active. Igwe wanted to talk about Morgan again, but Alex had to fix this first. The hall lights flickered; Alex would leave a note for maintenance to switch the bulbs out. Subject 240 had another test arranged for later in the day, but for now he needed to transfer it to a different location to prepare. After some rather incessant questioning from Igwe, Alex reluctantly confirmed his apparent suspicion that Morgan was in the hospital again. Testing location to the left; Alex punched in his numbers and the door unlocked. The main room was an observation area from which Alex planned to instruct the somewhat-tamed nightmare to mimic something that could be more easily transported—

Someone was already in the room.

Alex froze briefly at the door, Igwe walking into him before also noticing the dark-haired figure, seated in an office chair near the filing desk, pen in hand, intensely scribbling away on a piece of computer paper.

“Oh,” Igwe started, “I thought you said he was in the hospita—“

“What are you _doing_ here, Morgan!?” Alex demanded, further flabbergasted by his brother’s completely deadpan reaction to their entrance. He planted his hands on his face, saying, “Jesus Christ, I told them to call me if you tried to leave AMA again—“

“I’m not Morgan,” He murmured, uncertainty tinging his voice.

“How did you get in here? How did you get a Transtar uniform!?” Alex pinched the bridge of his nose. “Igwe, go back to my office and get the mental health center’s business card off my desk, I need to figure out who let him go.”

As Igwe slowly backed out of the room and trotted down the hall, Alex’s eyes finally fell on the empty containment cell.

“Morgan.”

He didn’t respond. The cell had been locked to Alex’s voice; how had it been opened?

“Where is Subject 240?”

“I’m not Morgan,” he repeated, somewhat more confident in the statement.

“Yes, you are, and you’re going back to the hospital as soon as I figure out what the fuck happened to the test subject.” Alex planted his hands on the glass; sometimes the subject would rest in the shape of a coffee cup but it would normally just be its enormous self, and there weren’t any duplicate objects in the cell. Alex shut and locked the observation room door before reaching behind one of the desks for a GLOO cannon and a wrench. “It couldn’t have gone far. The doors in here were locked—at least I thought they were—how the hell did you get the cell open!?“

“Like this.”

Alex froze. That was not his brothers voice.

That was _his_ voice.

Alex slowly turned to look at Morgan. His expression hadn’t changed, not that he was particularly emotive anyways, but there was a flatness to him that Alex hadn’t seen at the hospital.

“Where is Subject 240?” Alex asked again, voice lowered. Briefly, he glanced to the paper Morgan had been scribbling on, its surface almost completely covered in erratic blue and black lines. Morgan set the pen in his hand down. Alex watched it roll off the table and saw it come within an inch of the floor before suddenly disappearing; when he looked up, it was back in Morgan’s hand. “Morgan—”

At long last, it dawned on him. He suddenly became extremely aware of how he’d locked the door, and how he wasn’t sure how much ammo the GLOO cannon had.

_Morgan_ no longer had any typhon neuromods.

\--------------------------

When Morgan was discharged from the hospital, very little changed. Alex dropped him off at home, refusing to divulge any information about the recent experiments on the way there. He left Morgan with a dismissive “I’ll tell you tomorrow,” right back to the standard of Alex withholding any useful information. Right back to being alone in the same trashed apartment, right back to the spot on the bathroom floor where Alex had found him two weeks beforehand. The only difference was that this time, Morgan had a bottle of peroxide instead of a handle of vodka, and was treating himself to the very nice welcome-home gift of scrubbing the long-dried blood off the side of the bathtub and the tile floor.

Tomorrow he’d have a follow-up appointment at the hospital to check in and see how the staples in his thigh were coming along. Admittedly, he was having a rough time navigating his apartment on crutches, but it’s not like Alex was about to come over and help him clean. Once the bathroom was cleaned to an acceptable standard, Morgan retired to his couch and laptop with a frozen dinner to watch the same shitty DIY videos he’d been half-paying attention to when this particular episode started.

Morgan shoveled instant mashed into his mouth. Somehow it tasted worse than hospital food. A disembodied pair of hands on-screen hot glued a bunch of clothespins to a CD for some reason. After some disorienting jump-cuts, the person had created an astonishingly ugly coaster which was visibly made of trash. Morgan lost interest shortly thereafter, perusing Reddit for literally anything else. Eventually he stumbled upon something pornographic that held his attention for a minute or two, but when the clip ended and he was left staring into his reflection in the darkness of the screen, he slammed his laptop shut. With a disgusted shudder, Morgan left his laptop in the living room, hobbling with one crutch to his bedroom, with the same unmade bed and the same half-empty can of beer on the nightstand. Shoes, unwashed clothes, and take-out containers strewn across the floor. Holes punched in the walls covered by crookedly-placed posters. A single dead bonsai tree he’d picked up from Home Depot at the suggestion of some weird unlicensed “counselor” he’d seen once, and obviously hadn’t watered since he’d been in the hospital.

Bookcases cluttered with textbooks and science journals he once cared about. A Fatal Fortress Player’s Handbook he’d picked up, but never had the opportunity to use. Morgan crawled into bed before his surroundings made his chest ache any more.

In the darkness, Morgan found the corner of a blanket and pulled it over his head.

Maybe it would look better in the sunlight.

It didn’t.

In fact, in the morning, the daylight spilling through the slats of his blinds cast ugly shadows across the nest, highlighting the fact that the only path through the litter was a straight line from the bed to the door. That was the only patch of visible carpet, and even that was littered with crumbs. Morgan dragged himself from his room, telling himself he’d clean it up when his leg hurt a little less, and put on a clean tee from the dryer before waiting outside for Alex to pick him up for his appointment.

A shiny black sedan pulled up, and when Morgan got in he looked straight ahead out the windshield. The car pulled away, out of the driveway of the duplex, and onto the adjacent street. The roads were still largely empty, even all these months after the fact. The more urban areas seemed to be cleaner, but in the distance, skyscrapers draped with coral loomed over abandoned businesses. As they passed the more severely-affected area, the road barricades and national guard came into and then disappeared from view.

“We seem to have stopped it from spreading further,” Alex finally said, breaking the long silence as the hospital drew near.

“That’s good,” Morgan replied with as much enthusiasm as a cat who’d been offered a boiled turnip. “That’s all you wanted to ‘tell me later?’”

“Well, no. And again, we can discuss it once you’re back in the office—“

“Later today.”

“Do you plan on being back to work later today?” Alex asked with familiar condescension.

“Yes.” Morgan said flatly. Anything to not be at home.

“If your doctor allows it.”

“I don’t give a shit what she allows.”

“Well, I do.” Alex pulled into the parking lot of the medical center. “And given your license situation—“

“I’m not helpless, I can call a damn taxi,” Morgan snapped.

Alex said nothing but raised his eyebrows briefly as he got out of the car once it was parked. Morgan opened his own door and reached to the backseat to fumble with his crutches. When Alex approached the other side of the car, Morgan shot him a deathly glare; Alex turned his hands upwards and shrugged away so Morgan could take his time getting out of the car unaided.

Once he was alone in the examination room, waiting for the doctor to come in, Morgan’s thoughts returned to work. He hadn’t been to work for nearly a month before the episode, at the insistence both of his doctor and Alex, but he hadn’t been able to sit idly by while the coral slowly engulfed cities near and far. Alex could try to take responsibility as much as he wanted, but at the end of the day this was Morgan’s fault, and it would be his job to fix this. If he had just taken the less-noble route and blown Talos up, this would all be a non-issue; he’d be dead, the Apex would be dead, and Earth would be free of typhon influence. Instead he’d selfishly saved his own life, and the lives of his brother and employees, more fearful of a foul smear campaign than of death. He couldn’t have anticipated how the typhon organisms followed them home, even with every measure in place to ensure only humans were on-board. At least that’s what Alex had said.

Hopefully Alex had managed to get somewhere on his front. Testing had been largely futile on phantoms, but maybe he found something useful for a change.

When the doctor came in and they exchanged begrudging pleasantries, Morgan dutifully dropped his sweats and pulled the leg of his boxers up to unveil the bandages on his thigh.

“Let’s get these off and take a look,” the doctor, whose name Morgan had already forgotten, said as she unwrapped his leg. “How is the pain?”

“Can’t really put much weight on it,” Morgan mumbled. The cold air on the raw stitches invoked a deep discomfort, not quite painful, but definitively unpleasant.

“Looks a little irritated, but otherwise pretty healthy. No pus or significant redness. It’s healing up particularly nicely on the edges,” The doctor prepared fresh gauze with antibiotic spray. “I think the irritation will be resolved if you get a little more proactive about changing your bandages; it looks like these are the ones you slept in.”

Morgan said nothing. The doctor prattled on while re-wrapping Morgan’s leg about the importance of proper wound care and recommendations on how to make it easier. No discussion of his mental health, no questions about his thoughts, no mention of his therapist. He wasn’t sure if that was refreshing or concerning. After checking the sensation and mobility of his foot to make sure that no further nerve damage had developed, the doctor sat down at her computer to record her notes.

“Your staples are coming along nicely. I’d say at our appointment next week, we’ll probably be able to swap them out for butterfly stitches,” She said, looking at her monitor and not at Morgan. “In the meantime, let’s get your referral to the physical therapist in so you can get back on your feet.”

“Mm-hm.”

“Any other plans for today? Just going to rest up?”

“Work.”

The doctor turned from her monitor, brow furrowed.

“You’re—? I’d recommend against going back to work so soon, Morgan,” She implored, lifting her hands from the keyboard.

“You said it was healing fine. I can get around well enough on crutches,” He replied flatly.

“That’s…really not my concern.” The doctor pursed her lips. “You need more time—“

“I’ve already had two weeks off.”

“You were in inpatient psychiatric care, Morgan.” The doctor put a hand on her leg and leaned closer to him, forehead wrinkled in concern. “I doubt that was restful time off.”

“I’m—“

“At least until you’ve had a meeting with your outpatient therapist and the med nurse at the mental health center,” she interrupted, “I’m going to recommend you don’t go back to work. This goes beyond the physical injury, Morgan. We want to do everything in our power to make sure you don’t end up in this situation again.”

Morgan glared at the floor.

“I’m not saying you need to stay in your apartment all day,” the doctor said, returning to typing, “in fact, I think it would behove you to spend a little bit of time outside, even if just to get some groceries or something. But you need to take time to recuperate from what you experienced, reset your sleeping schedule, and let the new medications you’ve been prescribed take effect.” She paused. “Speaking of, have you been experiencing any side effects?”

Morgan stared at her for a moment.

“…For the fluoxetine, worsened anxiety or depression, any flu-like or gastrointestinal sympotoms, decreased libido or impotency—“

“No.”

“And for the gabapentin, uncontrolled eye movement, weakness, swelling of the extremeties….?”

“No.”

“Well, that’s good then,” the doctor sighed, “let me know if you’re experiencing unsteadiness or involuntary movements, or definitely if your anxiety and depression get worse, any suicidal ideation—“

“I got it.”

“Okay, okay. I’m writing you up a note to excuse you from work for the next week while you continue to recover—not that I think your brother is going to try to stop you— more for documentation purposes.” She typed away for a few moments, the only sound being the clicking of keys. When Morgan didn’t respond, she apparently felt a need to fill the silence: “Once you see your therapist and med nurse, we’ll discuss…we’ll see if we can get you back into your preferred swing of things.” Another pause. A nearby printer buzzed angrily a few times before spitting out a single sheet of paper. “Do you have any questions for me?”

“No.”

“Alright then, let me know if that changes.” The doctor stood up, stretching her legs for a moment, before taking the sheet off the printer and handing it to Morgan. “You’re all set to head over to the front desk and check out; you’ll be getting a call from the physical therapist probably in the next two days. Enjoy the rest of your afternoon.”

Morgan took his crutches and left, stopping at the door before the waiting room. The note in his hand was still warm from the printer. He crumpled it up and stuffed it in his pocket. The old man at the checkout desk wished him a lovely day, and Morgan came out into the waiting room where Alex sat, flipping through an old magazine.

“And?” Alex asked, standing up from his chair.

“Let’s go.”

“Home, I presume?”

“Work.”

Alex furrowed his brow and pursed his lips, motioning vaugely to Morgan’s outfit of sweatpants and an old band tee.

“I have real clothes in my locker,” He said, continuing past his brother.

“What did the _doctor_ say?” Alex asked, following him to the doors.

“She said it’d _behove_ me to spend some time outside of my apartment,” Morgan hissed, not exactly lying. Apparently that was the right tone to get Alex to stop asking questions. He chucked his crutches into the backseat, gingerly sat down himself, and stared in silence out the windshield the entire way to the new headquarters.

The sun above became abruptly obscured by the ceiling of the parking garage. Once parked, Morgan snatched his crutches from the backseat of the car and went off about as fast as he comfortably could to the back entrance, ditching Alex as he opened his door. The locker room wasn’t far. He shouldered the door open, punched in his locker combo, and hastily grabbed his uniform from the duffle bag inside and went off to a stall to change. Once again he dropped his sweats, this time sitting on the bench to pull the slacks on—

Something jolted his chest.

Morgan gasped, nearly falling to the ground, and for a horrible moment he was back on Talos I. On the floor of the Psychotronics, only a wrench to defend himself, a phantom standing over him whispering the last words of the human it once was. GLOO cannon empty, pistol empty, phantom swinging and hissing and screaming and—

His phone.

With mixed success, he tried to swallow his heart down. Morgan held the seat of the bench with white knuckles, re-seating himself in reality. White tile floor. Gray walls. Red curtain shielding him from the rest of the locker room. He felt the jolt again, now knowing it was his phone vibrating in his shirt pocket, and shakily took it out.

11:31 | Alex  
Meet me in R240 to discuss the subject whenever you’re done changing.

He cursed under his breath, turning his phone to silent as he finished changing. When he heard footsteps he froze, the image of a phantom briefly flashing before him again, but hearing the mutterings of normal humans brought him back.

“Yeah, I haven’t heard anything,” someone said, apparently in the middle of a conversation. There was a long pause. “We got the update that it stopped spreading like four days ago but nothing since then on the other stuff—I don’t know, man, I work in the lobby.”

Ah. Secretary. Nobody he needed to be worried about. Morgan finished buttoning his shirt, made sure his fly was up, and picked up his crutches.

“Oh, fuck, sorry, I didn’t realize anyone else was in here,” the other person said, head completely in his locker in search of something. Morgan sped past him while he had the chance. “David, shut the hell up.”

Morgan activated the grav shaft and floated up, nearly tripping as he came out of it. Not the easiest to navigate with crutches. The hallway buzzed with florescent lights, which Morgan squinted away from as he made his way to the testing chamber. With a flash of his keycard the door opened. Alex turned from the table he was standing at, huffed, and returned to his laptop.

“I was about to send someone to check on you,” he said flatly.

“I don’t care.” Morgan looked around; apparently the room had been renovated since he’d last been able to participate in tests well over a month ago. Instead of a simple lab with a boxed-off area for a specimen, the room had been fully divided in half by a glass wall. On the half that Morgan had entered was the normal lab equipment, but on the other side of the glass was what he assumed to be the enclosure for whatever Subject 240 was. “Voice lock on the door to the enclosure?”

“It’s disabled,” Alex said quickly. “Combination only now.”

“Voice lock is more secure.”

“Circumstances have changed.”

Morgan shrugged, coming into the room and standing before the enclosure. His brow furrowed. The enclosure was furnished as if there it contained a prisoner; a plain futon on the floor, a simple desk with scribbled-on papers strewn about and pens scattered on the floor.

“Where’s the test subject?” Morgan asked. Alex looked up from his laptop again.

“I don’t know, Morgan, it’s in there.” He sighed. “I’m trying to put this together so we can present to the rest of the company later this week. Will you come over here and focus so I can fill you in?”

“In a minute. What are those pages?” Morgan wandered over to the door of the enclosure.

“Morgan, I don’t know.” Alex rolled his eyes. “Maybe it’s been mimicking someone writing. It’s just scribbles.”

“Is it still aggressive?”

“Knock it off,” Alex snapped. Morgan paused, briefly remembering the save file incident from their childhood. “Get over here.”

Morgan finally relented, keeping his eyes on the enclosure while he went to the desk where Alex was working. Why was Alex being so dismissive? It was still in there, wasn’t it?

“So… what happened?” Morgan asked. When Alex didn’t answer right away, he pressed further, “did you make any headway at all?”

“It…worked.” Alex said hesitatingly.

“You make it sound like it didn’t.”

“When I went to check on it the first week you were in the hospital, it spoke.”

That finally gave Morgan pause. He tried to picture a phantom freely speaking English, rather than just parroting words it had heard.

“It doesn’t seem violent anymore,” he went on, “but what I’d like to do for this presentation is try to have an interview with it.”

“Is that right?”

“I elected to leave its previous memories intact the second time I ran it through the simulation,” Alex explained. “I thought that it might, knowing it wasn’t real, take a darker path than it had initially.”

“What was this one’s first attempt like?” Morgan asked quietly. “The previous specimens had all favored self-preservation in the simulations.”

“Or simply reverted to utilizing Typhon abilities exclusively. However, Subject 240 showed interesting promise.” Alex turned his laptop around for Morgan to view the test results. “On the first attempt, the subject attempted to save as many humans as possible, but lost several people to technopaths and ultimately elected to destroy Talos. However, on the second run, with the knowledge that it was engaged in a simulation…”

“It saved…everyone,” Morgan read off the results. “with no Typhon neuromods.” _It did better than me_ , he thought.

“And when it exited the second simulation, it retained the ability to speak complete sentences.” Alex walked to the glass wall of the testing chamber. “It’s been reluctant to communicate since then—like I said, the papers in there are just scribbles. Nothing legible. But if we can get some more information out of it, it would be huge for showing progress.”

“Progress beyond having stopped the spread of the coral?” Morgan asked.

“If we’ve made this thing a traitor to its kind,” Alex murmured, turning his laptop back to himself, “we could find a way to _burn_ the coral. Drive off the Apex.”

Morgan swallowed. He thought about the shape he saw obfuscating the moon’s glow the night he’d ended up in the hospital.

“I suppose you need me to get it out of there.”

“Not necessarily, but if you’re willing to help—“ Alex started, but dropped the sentence as Morgan made his way back over to the lock. “I don’t think you need to go in, though.”

“What’s the code?” Morgan asked. Alex sighed in defeat.

“It’s 228976.” He grumbled. “And just because the subject isn’t actively aggressive doesn’t mean it definitely won’t attack when startled. Be careful, please.”

“Mm-hm.” Morgan punched in the code and crossed into the testing chamber. From inside, the room felt even more barren; even the prisoners on Talos I had been given more furnished quarters. He scanned the room for duplicate objects, picking up a wrench from the corner in case he needed it, but the room was still.

Outside of the chamber, Morgan realized his brother wasn’t working on the presentation, but instead staring at him, hands hovering over the laptop’s keyboard. The pens strewn across the floor were all identical, but aside from that—

Phantoms can’t mimic objects.

Morgan’s grip on the wrench tightened. Alex said something to him, but Morgan didn’t hear it. One step forward. His boot landed on a sheet of paper, the surface of which had been almost entirely blacked-out with thin pen lines, the resulting crinkle muted by the still-wet ink.

If it wasn’t a phantom, what was in here?

Alex had said it would mimic things; was the subject a greater mimic? Did a mimic have the physical attributes to produce speech? Morgan stepped forward again, peering at the futon. The sheets were arranged neatly, but the pillow was half on the floor.

And the impression in the center of the bed was human-shaped.

The desk. The top of the desk was clean: no items or marks, but no chair, either. The backside of the desk faced Morgan. There was no way to see if the subject was underneath it. Slowly, Morgan came closer, the only sounds his boots on the tile and the buzzing lights. Once he was just within range, he extended his arm, and knocked on the back of the desk with the wrench.

Something shot out.

It was horribly tall, silhouette slithering across the high ceiling of the test chamber, hissing and screeching. Morgan fell to the ground, kicking back and away until he hit the far wall, vision tunneling on the familiar shape as his heart screamed in his ears.

Straightening itself out to its full height and size, six smoldering black mandibles came together to form one terrifying visage. Long legs ending in swordlike points skittered on the floor. Time slowed down as the hulking mass of its body turned to Morgan, asymmetrical, glowing eyes locking onto him like a hunter on a rabbit.

Morgan screamed.

The Arboretum. He heard that fucking scream again. Morgan dove behind a tree, hoping to cut through the bushes and flowers to escape, but the thing was fast. The floor shook and he lost his footing as a kinetic blast hit the wall near him. Suddenly it was above him, just as he fell again, Morgan hardly rolling out of the way in time to avoid being brutally impaled by a strike of its long, pointed leg.

He crawled frantically towards a fence where he could pull himself up, but his hands slipped, and this time he couldn’t get away.

The next blast hit him dead on.

Morgan felt ribs crack, and the stabbing pain inside him as he tried to inhale forced his breath to be frantic and shallow. Bleeding, wheezing, Morgan fumbled with his tools—he knew he had shotgun shells, perhaps they could buy him escape—

The shotgun jammed.

And as it stood over him once more, its six mandibles separated, and the roar it released left his ears ringing and his skull rattled. Morgan’s vision clouded with blood as he watched the alien form shift before him, its ethereal, slick body silhouetted by the brilliant glow of the moon behind it, as it focused on him for one final strike. Paralyzed in fear, Morgan watched the projectile form in the thing’s head, and suddenly come towards him.

Hands. Someone’s hands under his arms.

Alex. Alex was trying to lift him. Morgan’s ears and throat stung, and he realized he was still screaming, but when he opened his eyes he couldn’t stop.

It came towards him.

Morgan had dropped the wrench, but that didn’t stop him from punching blindly as the entity approached him before scrambling to his feet and fleeing the chamber. As soon as it had appeared it was gone, and Alex, who had been knocked on his ass by Morgan’s thrashing, slowly picked himself up of the testing chamber’s floor.

“I—“ Alex huffed as he regained his footing, “I told you—“

“You piece of shit!” Morgan snarled, fists clenched. “You knew!”

“I told you not to—“

“You knew it was a nightmare and you still let me go in there!” He couldn’t see straight. “You knew what happened to me—you knew what it was!”

“Morgan, calm down,” Alex snapped, moving towards him, but Morgan swung his arm out—Alex stepped back out of the way, and Morgan struck the metal wall with a resounding bang.

“You piece of shit! You fucking piece of shit!” Morgan howled, grabbing a chair with his other hand.

“Stop it!” Alex went to grab his arm, but flinched back as Morgn flung the chair past him. With an echoing crash it slammed into the table, landing sideways near the door. “Christ, Morgan!”

“You knew!!” Morgan’s vision blurred again, and he rushed forward—

Something held him.

For a moment, he thought he was about to faint and the room spun around him, but he realized that his heart hadn’t stopped, just slowed. Slowly, his vision cleared. Alex was stood near the desk, stanced as if he were still about to be attacked. Morgan looked down. Blood seeped from his knuckles, and his little finger was bent at an odd angle. A dark spot was formingover the spot on his thigh where his staples were, but oddly they didn’t hurt. His brain slowed, Morgan came to the realization that _nothing_ hurt. Instead, all he felt was a low, gentle buzzing in his skull, like being on nitrous oxide at the dentist’s office.

“I’m sorry,” a voice said. It wasn’t Alex. “I was startled. I didn’t mean to scare you.” Morgan realized again that he was being held, and slowly brought over to the desk, and to a still-upright chair. “You’re hurt.” Why was that voice familiar?

Why were these hands wearing Talos-issue gloves?

“You must be Morgan…”

Morgan had taken the time to go to the bathroom to wash up. Still in a daze, he bandaged his hand and popped his dislocated finger back into place. None of his staples had come loose, the scab had simply lifted. Halfway back to the testing room, the pain in his leg started to return, and he realized he’d left without his crutches. Alex handed them to him as he limped back inside, and cautiously took a seat at the table.

Alex opened his laptop and began typing, adjusting his glasses. Morgan sat still. Something inside him was sinking.

Across the table from him sat Subject 240. Morgan stared hopelessly into its eyes. It didn’t look like the nightmare anymore, but he knew what was writhing beneath the surface, beneath the mimicked Transtar uniform. Morgan was staring at an entity designed purely to destroy him.

And it felt like looking in a mirror.


	2. Maelstrom

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> What would you do if you could go back in time? Would you save others? Would you save yourself?
> 
> What would you say to your past self?
> 
> And what would they say back?

rec.

“I’m going to start this with a short version of a common cognitive exam, for the sake of the legitimacy of this interview. Do you understand?”

“Yes.” The subject responded flatly. Not very convincing of anything beyond parroted speech.

“I’m going to list a few words and I’d like you to repeat them.” Alex shuffled some papers. “Star. Paper. Rose. Cat. Tin.”

“Star, paper, rose, cat, tin.” It responded.

“Once more,” Alex said.

“Star, paper, rose, cat, tin.”

“Good. Starting at 100, count backwards in increments of seven.”

The subject paused, unmoving. Morgan, who’d positioned himself out of frame from Alex’s laptop camera, shuddered looking at it.

“…93. 86. 79. 72. 65. 58. 51. 44. 37. 30.” It fired off numbers as if it had them memorized. “23. 16—“

“That’s enough, thank you.” Alex typed something, and took a sheet from a folder under his laptop. “Can you identify these objects?”

Finally it moved, lowering its head slightly to view the paper.

“From left to right, a harp, a spoon, and a key.”

“Do you know where you currently are?”

“Earth.” Something about the way it said that chilled Morgan. “I’ve not been told much else besides not being on Talos I, and the nature of the simulations I was put through.”

“Do you know the date or time?”

Subject 240 silently shook its head. When Alex remained quiet, it decided to clarify, “I have no outside knowledge of humanity or Earth besides what took place on Talos I—and even that is likely inaccurate, due to the nature of the simulations wherein I needed to make choices which quite likely differed from Morgan’s.”

Morgan’s gut clenched, hearing it say his name. He’d figured it out, though, what its cold flatness reminded him of: January. He was hearing his own voice come out of something inhuman, yet somehow this was so much worse.

“Should I not bother to ask you who the current president of the United States is?” Alex asked.

“I would not have a meaningful answer,” It replied with a shrug.

“Very well.” Alex looked back at his first paper. “Can you repeat the five words I told you at the beginning of the evaluation?”

“Star, paper, rose, cat, tin.”

“Excellent.” Alex tapped the papers on the desk and shoved them back in the folder. “Let’s continue with the interview.” He folded his hands over his laptop keyboard. “What are you?”

Subject 240 stared at him for a moment before speaking.

“I am a Typhon organism originating from the invasion of Talos I. You classify my specific type as a ‘nightmare,’” it said. “I am mimicking a human because my natural state doesn’t have the physiological attributes to produce human speech.” It glanced at Morgan, then back at Alex.

“Go on,” Alex said.

“…You have installed in me human neuromods in order to better control me.”

Alex’s eyes widened. Morgan reflexively gripped his armrest.

“For the sake of experimentation, these neuromods included human capacity for empathy and some capacity for emotions in the way that humans portray them,” it went on, “and with these neuromods in place, I was put through simulations of the events of Talos I from the perspective of Morgan Yu.”

It looked at him again.

“…And what did you do in these simulations?” Alex asked.

“My best,” it said in a voice Morgan could have mistaken to be dejection. “Through the first simulation I believed myself to _be_ Morgan, despite having no prior knowledge of his life or of humanity in general; in fact, during this simulation, I had no memories of my own prior life, either. I tried to save as many people as I could, but ultimately in the first simulation, I elected to destroy Talos I for the better of humanity on Earth.” It closed its eyes. “Then you woke me up and told me. Everything.”

Alex was typing like mad on something on his laptop, but Morgan couldn’t focus on anything—Alex slid him the paper he’d been looking at, on which were apparently the remaining interview prompts. Morgan hesitantly took the paper.

“After the first simulation, I regained my own memories, but also retained the ones that I’d formed while believing myself to be Morgan,” it continued, “and on the second simulation I felt I needed to prove something. So, with no neuromods, I rescued every individual that could be rescued, and did not destroy Talos I.” It paused. “I will add that I do not know how the events transpired in reality, given how many different ways the simulation could have gone. I can only assume that, by the r—by Morgan still being alive, that Talos I was not destroyed.”

“Was there anything in particular you felt you learned from the simulations?” Morgan asked quietly, reading from the page.

“When I’d regained my own memories, listening to what humans believed to be true about Typhon organisms was…interesting.” It looked at Alex. “I found it strange that so many people considered our actions purely malicious. We have no intentions of causing extinction by any means.”

“So what _were_ your intentions?” Morgan asked of his own volition. Alex shot him a look for deviating from the interview sheet.

“Do wolves wish extinction on rabbits?”

Alex abruptly stopped typing.

“…We’ll cut that,” he said, more to Morgan than to the subject. It shrugged.

“What did…” Morgan trailed off, almost forgetting to look at the questions he was supposed to be asking.

“Just—was there anything _else_ you learned from the simulations?” Alex asked it, snatching the paper back. Morgan sunk back into his chair.

“Humans experience pain in a different way than we do,” it mused. “In the Typhon there is an understanding of being injured and needing to retreat. In humans it is much more basal; that understanding is there, however is is preceded by a physical and psychological reaction which, depending on the severity of the injury, can’t be ignored. Sometimes it’s so severe it even impedes the ability to correct the problem at hand.” When it looked at Alex and Morgan’s horrified expressions, it explained, “I died quite a few times during the second simulation. It was painful.”

“…I see.” Alex slowly began typing again. “Anything el—“

“Do humans struggle to see other forms of life as prey in general?” Subject 240 interrupted, cocking its head. “I thought it was curious you found our lack of empathy towards prey items so disturbing, yet you genetically engineered an entire new species of eel to _specifically_ exist as a prey item for you. Where do humans draw the line about what sorts of other life forms are acceptable to kill for food?”

“That’s enough,” Alex said curtly, glaring at it. It didn’t move. “There are actual questions we’re trying to answer.”

“Mm.” Subject 240 stared at Alex for a long couple seconds while Morgan fidgeted uncomfortably in his seat. Alex sighed dramatically before again turning to the paper from which he’d been reading the questions.

“Do you know if the coral can be destroyed?” He asked, voice lowered.

“I don’t,” it replied flatly. “And even if it were possible, it would not likely drive away the Apex. She’s finished with what she can do with Talos I and the moon, and has already seen the coral on Earth.”

“She,” Morgan spat under his breath.

“Do you still have the ability to communicate with others of your kind?” Alex asked.

“I don’t see why I would have lost that ability,” it said, looking at Morgan a little too long while replying. “I can’t guarantee, however, after having received human neuromods, that they would be willing to communicate with me.”

“Why would that be?” Alex asked.

“Mirror neurons are selected against in my kind because they’re detrimental to our survival.” Subject 240 frowned. “Humans, as I understand it, are omnivores, but with careful attention paid to nutritional intake could probably subsist on an entirely plant-based diet. We, on the other hand, have exactly one food source, and seeing it as an ally rather than as a prey item…would not be beneficial.”

“It’s not like they can spread,” Morgan muttered.

“Oh, they can,” it replied, then asked with a cocked head, “were neuromods not inspired in some part by the Typhon ability to conjugate?”

“Explain,” Alex implored.

“Horizontal gene transfer.” It paused for moment. “I guess it makes sense you wouldn’t know, since humans don’t do it…It’s a method of transferring genetic material directly from individual to individual.” Alex wrote that down. “For example, if I develop a gene which makes me more heat-resistant, I can conjugate with others to give them that resistance as well.”

“Like bacteria,” Morgan said under his breath. Disease indeed.

“If humans can’t conjugate, how to do they exchange genetic material?”

“That’s off-topic,” Alex said quickly, much to Morgan’s relief. “We’ll cut that, too…”

“How many more questions do you have?” Morgan turned to Alex, scowling. He was getting antsy.

“Only a few.” Alex said. “This is just proof-of-concept stuff…what are you able to tell us about the Apex?”

“She is our…hive, I’ll say.” Its expression became pensive. “When mimics find a food source, weavers—“

“We know how weavers are formed, and what their role is in your ecology.” Alex interrupted. “Anything else?”

“…when she leaves the moon and comes to Earth, other Typhon organisms will feed her, and she’ll produce more of us,” it said. When Alex didn’t respond, it continued, “Normally we only exist on a planet’s surface during the initial colonization phase, and thereafter only as mimics to collect food. She will remain for as long as there exists a food source. In other hives—“

“There are others!?” Alex inhaled sharply. Morgan shrank back into his chair at the thought of the invasion worsening.

“Each hive’s coral signature is unique. If another Apex sees this planet as a target, the coral will tell her that this planet has been claimed already.” Something in its body shifted—Morgan could see it move from the outside, and he suppressed a gag. “As I mentioned previously, the goal is not extinction. In other hives, they exist so long in junction with a planet that the native fauna evolve alongside us, and the relationship becomes symbiotic. Our own Apex is descended from one such hive.”

“We don’t want symbiosis,” Morgan murmured. It turned towards him and he curled his lip. “We want to be left alone.”

“I don’t know what you expect me to do about that,” Subject 240 said simply.

“Then that will be all for now.”

———————

Morgan sat in silence, headphones on, in what was claimed by Alex to be an “open-space office plan” but was more like a regular office with all the cubicles torn down. Alex had spun some elaborate tale about how productivity is higher in open floor plans like this because they encourage collaboration, which is exactly the type of corporate bullshit Morgan would have spouted two years ago. Igwe, however, had been so kind to nervously let slip to Morgan about how this had, at least in part, been a deal with the outpatient care center, who were concerned at the thought of Morgan being alone in a room with no surveillance. Of course, his shitty, empty apartment had not worried them at all, but it infuriated Morgan that the real reason he was denied his normal private office was that Dr. Whatshisfuck was afraid he’d try to off himself again.

Like he’d pull that shit at work.

This, naturally, was in conjuncture with the “easier work” Alex had provided him, which was basically spreadsheets an intern could be doing. Morgan felt like he was in college again, and not it a good way. Less “succeeding in research while sleeping around” and more “cramming in missing assignments before the semester ends.”

“Hey.”

Morgan snapped his head to the side, in the process scaring the shit out of Danielle who had come over with a folder. Muttering to himself, he took his headphones off and set them on his laptop keyboard.

“What?” he snapped, reluctant to look away from his work.

“Jesus, dude. Just papers.” She handed him the manila folder in her hands, which Morgan opened to, surprise, more fucking spreadsheets. “Yeah, I know. I told Alex we could send these probably to interns—“

“That’s what _I_ said,” Morgan grumbled, squeezing his face in his hands.

“‘Least these ones are short,” she sighed. “I get it. He’s got me doing busywork, too.”

“Mm-hm.” Morgan flipped through the spreadsheets, contemplating how these could all easily be compressed into one document if Alex wasn’t concerned with making the most possible work out of the fewest possible resources.

“And, uh, I also did want to, uh…” Danielle shifted on her feet, popping her knuckles. “…Extend an invitation to you. We’re trying to get a Fatal Fortress game going.”

Morgan thought about the books on his shelf.

“It’ll be Emma B., Gary Snow, and I’ll be GMing,” She mumbled. “I just—I feel like it’d be good for all of us to, uh, have some social time.”

“A distraction.”

“Not necessarily a bad thing,” she added.

Morgan stared at the spreadsheets. He’d lost his place.

“You don’t gotta decide here and now. We don’t have a set day and time yet, but we’re thinking Wednesdays at six. If that doesn’t fit your schedule, we can work something else out.” Danielle sighed as she walked away. “Shoot me an email if you decide you want to play or not; if it’s your first time, I’ll help you build a character.”

It would have been a nice little dramatic moment if there had been a door she could have let fall closed behind her, but instead Danielle quietly beelined to her own desk less than twenty feet away. At least she’d been given a proper desktop.

Morgan shuffled through the paper’s he’d been given, getting almost to the end of the packet before realizing he’d not absorbed even the tiniest snippet of information that they may have contained. Every time he closed his eyes, an intrusive mental image would crawl into his brain, of Subject 240’s insides shifting visibly under the mimicked human exterior. He felt something move on his leg—he wasn’t sure if it was his leg hair or a spider, so he just quickly swatted at it and hoped it would go away. For a moment, Morgan remembered the feeling of a mimic crawling up his leg, and the anxiety started to set in again.

It was still too real.

And it was never just a memory. A memory like being accepted to college was one he could think about while still anchored to reality. Morgan could remember what it was like to board Talos I, to participate in experiments as a conductor before surrendering himself to be the subject. But every time one of those slithering black things came into his mind’s eye, Morgan would be torn from his bed or the office and dumped back into the fray. Back into a stalemate with a neuropath controlling people he’d called employees. Back into fleeing the first sight of the Nightmare in the arboretum.

Back to stealing the arming key from Alex and turning around to see the mass of smoldering darkness encompass the side of the ship.

Morgan wandered off before he knew where he was going. He thought Danielle asked him something, but he didn’t hear the words. He just needed to move; if he could convince himself he could breathe despite the tightening in his throat and the pounding of his heart, he’d be fine. But his shaking legs and uncoordinated crutches took him well past where his office used to be, long locked shut to keep him from secluding himself. He passed blurry faces he couldn’t make out; if he blinked to clear his eyes, he’d see it again.

Only as he approached the door did he remember what had happened before the interview. What had that buzzing sensation been? Morgan didn’t care about the source; all he cared about was the memory of it cutting through his meltdown like it was nothing, and it not hurting. He fumbled with his keycard. When the door opened, Alex was gone from his desk.

Subject 240 was sat on the futon, its back to the glass.

It still looked like him.

Morgan stumbled to the glass, dropping one of his crutches in the process, and tapped on the wall with a shaky hand. Without jumping it turned to look at him, face blank of any emotion.

“You—earlier—“ Morgan choked out, vision still foggy. “My head.”

“You did feel it, then,” it said quietly. “Strange.”

“Do—can—you—again?” He was trying and failing not to hyperventilate.

“I don’t know if it will work through the glass,” it replied, standing up and putting its hand on the enclosure wall. Morgan let his head fall to where its hand rested, but when he closed his eyes, twisting forms grabbed for him from the darkness. He couldn’t even manage a response- he just whined.

“If you want to come in—or for me to come out...” it began, but Morgan had already hobbled over to the keypad, mistyping the password with trembling hands before finally getting it right and the door sliding open. Subject 240 quickly stepped over, offering a hand.

Morgan took it.

He fell to his knees, and would have toppled over completely if Subject 240 hadn’t caught him. Just like before it was immediate, as if his heart rate was controlled by something else. His vision cleared of the fog but Morgan’s head was still spinning; he was exhausted, he suddenly realized. The sort of exhaustion you feel after a lengthy panic attack, where your whole body feels like lead and your eyelids are too heavy to keep open.

“Do you want to lie down?” It asked. Morgan nodded groggily. It tried to help him to his feet, but his legs resisted, so instead it wrapped its arm beneath Morgan’s and carried him over to the futon. Its hands weren’t cold like Morgan was expecting, but they weren’t warm either. Instead they simply _were_. They felt inanimate.

It laid him down on the futon, pulling the thin blanket up to his shoulders.

Morgan passed out before he could have another thought.

The next time he opened his eyes, the buzzing had cleared, but he still felt weak. Initially disoriented by the plain white walls and hum of fluorescent bulbs, he feared he was in the hospital again. Once he moved his arms and felt the thinness of the sheet—and the pair of alien eyes staring at him—he remembered exactly how he ended up here.

“You’ve been like that for an hour. I was becoming concerned,” Subject 240 said, who was sat cross-legged on the other side of the chamber.

“You were watching me sleep?” Morgan grumbled as he slowly sat upright. His leg hurt again.

“You what?”

“I—sleeping,” Morgan repeated. When it cocked its head at him, he added, “What, they didn’t put that in the simulation?”

“No. I’ve never seen any creature have as intensive of a rest state as that,” it said, nodding slowly. “I’m assuming that’s what sleep is?”

“…Yeah.” Morgan rubbed his eyes.

“May I ask you a question?”

“Clearly, nothing’s stopped you previously.”

“Do you have any Typhon neuromods installed?”

Morgan froze at the question. All those tests he’d done. Those damn things that started it all.

“No,” he said finally. “I don’t have any neuromods installed at all.” He tried to remember when it happened. “They were all removed.”

“Interesting.” It leaned back.

“Why is that interesting?” Morgan said slowly.

“I didn’t think it would have an effect on anything other than another Typhon,” it replied. “Maybe the human neuromods changed that.”

“Didn’t think—?” Morgan remembered the buzzing. “What _is_ that, anyways?”

“It’s…I’ll call it moderating, I suppose,” it pondered, staring out the glass at the empty room. “When in physical contact with another typhon, I can influence its internal processes to reduce stress, or more often to convey information. It’s an important aspect of communication for us, but in particular it helps us operate in stressful environments.”

“So the human neuromods let you do that on me?”

“That is my best guess,” it said, closing its eyes. Morgan’s eyes. He shuddered again. “To be truthful, before my capture, I’d never bothered to try it on anything other than one of my own kind.”

Morgan gave a semi-interested grunt.

“I am still curious, if you’re still willing to answer questions, about human gene transfer…”

“Yeah, uh…” Morgan suddenly felt a lot more motivated to stand. “Maybe I can convince Alex to get you a tablet or something to sate that curiosity for you.”

“Ah. Sorry to overburden you.” It said flatly. Morgan could not for the life of him tell if it was sincere. “I would appreciate any way to learn that you’re willing to provide. But I did have one more question before you go.”

Morgan stretched his good leg and looked over at Subject 240, its brow furrowed in what he assumed to be concern.

“Is Danielle okay?”

Taken aback by the question, Morgan paused; why wouldn’t she be? Beyond the obvious, of course.

“I mean…we’re all pretty fucked up over it,” Morgan mumbled, shrugging as he picked up his lost crutch from the floor. “She’s alive, if that’s what you’re asking. Why?”

“I wasn’t able to save her in the simulation,” it sighed. “She was trapped outside, but she was in an area with plenty of oxygen refill stations. I couldn’t do anything to convince her that they existed and were useable. She suffocated outside of the fitness center.”

“…Why the hell did that get put in the simulation…?” Morgan muttered, more to himself than to the subject.

“To gauge a reaction to futility, perhaps? I assumed the worst based on the fact there was an operator with her name at the end of the simulation.”

“…Alex made an operator of her?” Morgan’s eyes widened, and slowly looked at the ground. The absolute fit she threw about Skillet came to mind. “Oh shit.”

“Maybe it would be unwise to tell her that,” it said quietly.

“…yeah, maybe.”

“How differently did things transpire in reality?” It pondered, probably rhetorically. “There were probably thousands of possible outcomes to the simulation, hundreds of thousands—I can assume a few things based on you being alive, us being on Earth…”

“Listen, I said I’d talk to Alex about getting you a tablet,” Morgan muttered as he made his way back to the door, “but I have to get back to work.”

“Sorry.” It replied flatly. Morgan reached for the passcode lock of the door. “And thank you.”

Morgan paused.

“For what?”

“For talking to me,” it said. “It’s nice.”

———————

As Morgan suspected, his eloquence was still very much limited to text and writing. Rather than even try convincing Alex in person to get Subject 240 any further accommodations, let alone something with internet access, a quick bullshit about how learning more about human society would help keep the mirror neurons fed was apparently sufficient. By the next time he was in for work, it had been given not only the tablet, but a journal, a sketchbook, and even a set of colored pencils at its own request.

Its enclosure was littered with loose pages, spilled stacks of computer paper it had drawn on before being given the sketchbook. Morgan had come in alone to see if Subject 240 would be ready for another interview in the coming days, and beyond the scattered papers it sat on its desk, quietly reading something on the tablet. Morgan tapped on the glass, and it looked up.

“Morgan.” it said. He unlocked the door.

“Seems you’ve made…good use of what you asked for,” Morgan muttered, using a crutch to move a page completely blacked out with ink. “Do you have a minute?”

“Not that I can do much else,” it replied. It set the tablet down and rather mechanically turned its head to face him.

“Alex wants to do another interview some time this week, figured I’d give you a warning.” Morgan shrugged. “Got some of your questions answered, I suppose?”

“More than I’d hoped for.” It turned to the screen of the tablet and unlocked it.

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“The more I read, the harder it is to not be upset by the whole ordeal.”

Morgan furrowed his brow.

“About being here?”

“About Talos.” It stared at the floor.“News videos and Wikipedia articles answered a lot of my initial questions about humans in general, but what eventually came to anger me was discovering the intended uses of neuromods.”

“You didn’t learn that in the simulations?” Morgan asked.

“I learned their functions. I saw the demonstrations. What I didn’t see, beyond the execution of humans to get more exotic material, was the production cost, and the market.” It pursed its lips. “Even if we pretended that human lives were free, and that mimics could be ethically farmed, a single neuromod cost something to the tune of three million dollars to create.”

“Well—of course, the technology is insane.” Morgan scoffed. “We’re talking about an invention that could easily change the course of human history.”

“We’re talking about an invention that could restore stroke victims to their true selves, or cure PTSD,” it stared at Morgan rather pointedly when it said that, “or put skillsets in the hands of the marginalized that they may have never had access to. An invention that could instantly create a common language for humanity.”

“Exactly, which is—“

“And you were using it to teach Danielle to play piano.”

Morgans eyes widened.

“An invention that could easily improve the lives of every single member of your species, Morgan,” it said solemnly, “but there is nothing humanitarian about the price tag. At this sort of cost, how could neuromods do anything but widen the gap between the humans who want for nothing and the humans who _have_ nothing?”

“I…”

“Apologies if I sound flustered, but you must be able to understand my perspective with all those precious mirror neurons of yours,” it said in a way that Morgan was unable to tell whether it was sarcastic, “but the way neuromods were being created certainly seems like it was detrimental to both species, doesn’t it?”

“They were still in development!” Morgan snapped. “Do you think the first computers were cheap enough to instantly be available to the general public!?”

“That is not an accurate comparison, and you know it. Computers were military and engineering equipment before anything else,” it stated. “I’m sure you and Alex had a vision in your minds of an improved future for humanity, but you can’t deny the simple fact that no normal person could get their hands on a neuromod no matter how much it would improve their lives. Someone like you or Alex could use them by the dozen.”

“What are you getting at?” Morgan hissed. “What do you want me to do about it now!?”

“You were killing us to manufacture luxury items. We were killing you for food.”

Morgan froze.

It lowered its voice.

“I want you to think about who was _really_ the villain here.”

———————

He watched the security camera footage back to try to find out what went wrong. Morgan had to re-watch it shapeshift through half-closed eyes to avoid panicking again at the mere sight, but from the day of the first interview, through the next three days of footage til the argument, it still largely stayed in Morgan’s shape.

But that’s not what Morgan was looking for.

What he was looking for was the strange cut in the footage. Morgan had stormed out at Subject 240’s scathing words, and the next few hours of footage were just of it sitting and drawing. But then, two hours of blackness, until the feed cuts back in to exactly what Alex had described in the email.

A large twist of oil-colored flesh on the floor. A typhon corpse. It was dead.

Alex had been fast to call it quits; the first interview hadn’t been released to the public, and he was ready to refine his process further and try a new subject.

Morgan wasn’t.

It wasn’t that he missed Subject 240 by any means. Being verbally torn apart by an effigy of his younger self was hell. But Morgan had no answers about how it had died, or about how the footage had been cut with seemingly no outside interference. He couldn’t remember anything that would have hinted at this happening.

What he did remember was what nightmare corpses looked like back on Talos I.

The pieces of exotic material left in the testing chamber were not even remotely that size.

**Author's Note:**

> can i even legally call it a slow-burn if they make eye contact in the first chapter
> 
> In the future this will get significantly more nsfw so I'm just marking it as explicit in advance lol. thanks for reading!!!


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